For perhaps the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes, Lucy wandered to the foyer window and looked expectantly toward the livery stable. It was well after six o'clock, and there was still no sign of Marie.
Cold fingers of dread crept into her heart, and she wrapped her arms around herself to force back the gooseflesh that popped out on her arms.
Something is wrong!
The words whispered inside her mind like a phantom of doom, urging her to seek help from someone of authority, someone who could figure out what might have happened, someone who could find Marie and bring her home.
Then, the voice of reason spoke, just as confidently. She would be home, soon. She had always come back before, and there was nothing to suggest that she would not be back this time. Sometimes, she had to remain with a patient for a while to make certain that the person was recovering well. Everything would be all right.
Lucy had returned home from her friend's house shortly after five o'clock, and as she had walked across the intersection toward the front gate, the first thing that struck her as odd was the fact that the clean white sheets, dresses, and petticoats were still hanging on the clothesline. Marie was fastidious about her laundry, as were most women. Typically, they remained on the line only long enough to dry them. Any longer, and they could be soiled by birds or by dust kicked up by the hooves of passing horses. She always brought them in as soon as possible to get the sheets back on the bed and the clothing back in their proper places. It was obvious that they were completely dry, and Lucy had found it curious that they had not yet been brought inside.
Wondering if her guardian had become ill, she had walked swiftly up the path to the porch, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. There, she had paused, detecting the lingering aroma of the apple pies that had been baked hours earlier. Marie had obviously taken the day away from the store, and had used the time to catch up on some chores. But where was she? It was immediately obvious that no one was home, for the house was dark and quiet. Too quiet for a house that was occupied.
With nothing to do except wait, Lucy had deposited her books on a chair in the parlor and went to the kitchen, knowing that if Marie had been called away, she would probably have left a note on the kitchen table, informing her of where she had gone, when she was expected back, and any chores that she wanted done in her absence.
As expected, the message was there, a hastily scribbled note, informing her that she had been summoned to care for a shooting victim, and that Marshal Craddock had gone with her.
She had felt instantly relieved with the knowledge that the marshal was with her to protect her. She knew he cared deeply for Marie, and would not allow any harm to come to her, if he was physically able to prevent it.
There had been no instructions left on the note, so she had set about bringing in the laundry and returning the sheets to the beds. The petticoats were put away, and the dresses were set aside to be ironed the next day.
The chores were now done, and still Marie had not returned. Slowly, the fear for Marie's safety began to creep back into her heart. It would be dark soon.
With a sigh, she returned to the parlor and sank down on the lounge beneath the window, wondering what she should do. It was now mealtime, and Lucy wondered if she should start supper to have it ready when Marie returned. But she did not know when Marie would be home, or if she would even return that evening. If the patient was badly injured, she might be gone all night. With badly injured patients or difficult births, she was sometimes required to remain with the patient until the danger had passed. Marie's dedication to her patients was total. If the person's condition was serious, she would remain regardless of the hour until she was assured that the person would recover.
Except for the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle, the house was silent. It seemed to Lucy that the entire house was listening for its owner, waiting for her soft footfall on the steps, the sound of her voice and her laughter.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms again as that ominous feeling of foreboding returned. "Where are you, Marie?" she asked, her voice thin and frightened.
A knock at the door startled her from her reverie, and a feeling of relief swept through her, thinking that Marie must have forgotten her key. Leaping from the lounge, she rushed to the door and opened it. Instead of her guardian, Lucy saw the typically cheerful face of Sally Duffield. She felt her heart sink with disappointment.
"Mrs. Duffield," she said, glumly, the smile slipping from her face.
Sally smiled, brightly. "Well, that's some greeting!"
"I'm sorry. I was hoping you were Marie."
Worry lines creased Sally's forehead, and her cheerful smile disappeared. "Marie isn't here?"
"No." She fished the note from the pocket of her apron. "When I got home from Helen's house, I found this on the kitchen table."
Sally quickly read the note, then turned it over to look at the back, searching for the specific location that Marie had gone. Unfortunately, she seemed to have omitted that detail. She looked up. "She didn't say where the shooting occurred."
Lucy's blue eyes were large with worry. "No. She doesn't say when she left, either, so I don't know if she's overdue."
The two looked at one another for a long moment, indecisively. Finally, Sally grasped the girl's hand. "Come on. We have to tell Corporal Bennett. Maybe he can help."
Together, they rushed down the street to the law enforcement office, and burst through the door. The office was empty. Sally hurried to the door, leading to Clive's private quarters and pounded on the door with her fist.
"Corporal Bennett!"
When there was no answer, she pounded harder.
"Corporal Bennett! Are you in there?"
Again, there was no answer. Sally was reluctant to violate a person's private home, but this was an emergency. She shoved the door open and leaned inside, her eyes scanning the orderly room quickly. Like the office, it was empty.
She backed out, and pulled the door closed.
"Maybe he's having dinner," Lucy suggested. "It is dinnertime, and he's been seeing Miss Upton a lot."
"Good idea."
Together, they went two doors down from the office to the swinging barroom doors of the saloon. Here, they hesitated. Lucy was underage, and could not enter the establishment. Sally had been a part of the women's temperance movement against alcohol two years earlier, and Zack Denny was still holding a grudge. He was not likely to react favorably if she set foot inside the saloon.
"Let's go around to the dining room," she suggested.
Circling the building, they burst through the side door of the facility so forcefully that it slammed back against the wall and shuddered on its hinges. Fortunately, it was a solid door with no window, of the glass would surely have shattered. Sally's eyes darted quickly around the room, searching for the corporal, dismissing each of the diners in turn until they finally located the Mountie. As expected, he was dining with the schoolteacher in a secluded corner, suggesting that they were seeking privacy.
Clive looked up, startled, as did everyone else in the dining room when Sally and Lucy burst into the establishment. Through the open door leading to the saloon, she had also attracted the attention of the drinkers and card players -- and Zack Denny, who cast an annoyed glance at Dom, who instantly understood the unspoken command behind the harsh expression.
Sally rushed toward Clive's table, dragging Lucy behind her by the hand, weaving through the maze of tables. "Corporal Bennett!" she shouted. "Corporal Bennett!"
Dom hurried into the dining room, blocking her path. "Sally, you shouldn't be in here!" he hissed, urgently.
"I don't have time for this!" she told him as she continued her flight to Clive's table in the corner. "Corporal Bennett!"
Dom grasped her by the arms, intending to guide her back to the door.
She shoved him aside with more force than he would have ever imagined, throwing him off balance. He staggered and fell against the Cooper's table, tipping it precariously on two legs and upsetting the dishes and silverware of the two diners, who could only watch in stunned surprise as their dinner slipped from the table top and crashed to the floor. Dom grasped the edge of the table and set it firmly on all four legs again, muttered a quick apology to the ranching couple, then caught up with Sally and grasped her arm again.
"Sally, please! What is this all about?" he asked.
Clive dabbed his lips with his napkin, and stood up, alarmed by the panic on Sally's face. "What's wrong, Mrs. Duffield?"
She was out of breath and gasping, frantically. "Marie didn't come to close up the store this evening, so when I went to her house, Lucy met me at the door with this note." She handed the note to Clive. "She came home from a friend's house, and found it on the table."
Clive quickly scanned the note, and the worried frown that had puckered his brow slowly eased. "I'm not sure there's anything to worry about just yet." He turned the note over, as Sally had done, searching for a time or a location. "She's with Marshal Craddock, isn't she? I'm sure he wouldn't let any harm come to her."
"What if something happened to him?" Sally pointed out. "What if they've been kidnapped or something?"
"There is no evidence to suggest that anything has happened, Mrs. Duffield. If the patient was badly injured, she may have decided to stay with him until the crisis passes. That isn't unusual for her, is it?"
"I know that, but . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she pushed a lock of unruly hair back from her face with her hand. "I just can't help but think that something is wrong. Lucy feels it, too."
Beside her, Lucy nodded briskly in agreement.
After a hesitation, not even wanting to say the words, Sally asked, "What if that Englishman came back? What if he's done something to them?"
"Please, do something, Corporal Bennett," Lucy pleaded.
Clive gazed into the young girl's beseeching eyes, and felt his resolve weaken. He shifted his gaze through the saloon portion of the building, his eyes coming to rest on the front window. The sun was setting behind the mountains to the west. "It'll be dark before long, and we don't even know where they went," he pointed out. "If I left now, I'd just have to turn back before long. I think we should give her some time. If she doesn't show up by morning, I'll organize a search party and we'll go looking for them."
Sally and Lucy were both clearly dissatisfied with the corporal's logic. They stood stock-still, staring at him with accusing eyes.
"Aren't you the least bit concerned, Corporal?" Sally asked.
"Mrs. Duffield, you know Marie's dedication to her work. There have been many nights that she has stayed away from home to be with a patient. I just don't see the need to start worrying yet. And, as I explained, there really isn't anything that can be done tonight, anyway. I'm not saying that because I don't care; I'm just being practical. We can't start searching until morning."
He sat down to resume his meal.
Defeated, Sally turned to Lucy, and shrugged. Dom placed a comforting hand on her arm. "I'm afraid he's right, Sally. It'll be dark, soon. Maybe you should stay with Lucy, tonight. Marie may come home during the night."
She nodded. With slumped shoulders, she made her way back toward the door. Lucy, with the sometimes impractical and judgmental attitude of youth, looked at Clive with accusing eyes for several moments, then followed her guardian's best friend out the door.
Dom heaved a sigh of relief, and turned back to the customers whose meals had been so rudely interrupted.
"What about our dinner," Cooper demanded, angrily.
"I'm terribly sorry," Dom said, rather distractedly. "I'll get you another plate."
"And clean up this mess, please," his wife demanded. "It is rather unappetizing to look at."
"Right away, Ma'am," Dom replied, patiently.
He cast one lingerly glance at the door through which Lucy and Sally had just departed, sharing in their concerns for Marie, but resigned to the fact that there was nothing to be done that night. With a sigh, he went to the store room to find a mop.
They were losing what little light managed to penetrate the jumble of beams, planks, and shingles as the sun slipped lower and lower in the sky. Soon, it would be dark.
"I wish I'da brought in that canteen," Jack remarked, knowing that it was a useless remark. Wherever he went, he always carried a canteen with him, tied to his saddle, in the event that he was away from water for any length of time, but when they had entered the house, it seemed there would be no need to bring it inside. "I'm gettin' kinda thirsty."
"So am I," Marie responded. "It will be uncomfortable, but we can last for several days without water. Back in France, I remember a mining accident, a cave-in. The miners were trapped for six days without food and water, and survived."
"Well, we won't be here that long," he said with confidence. "The horses have probably made it back to Bordertown by now, and Clive'll be organizin' a search party. They'll find us. How's that ankle?"
She flexed her ankle. "It doesn't hurt too bad," she replied. "How's your head and your side?"
"Don't hurt too bad," he answered.
They sat quietly for several moments, each one thinking the same thing. Clive and the search party would not be able to search in the dark. Even if they were already out searching the hills and forests for them, they would be forced to turn back. That meant that they would be spending the night together in the rubble. Alone.
Everyone in town must be aware by now of the fact that they were overdue. Recalling the unfortunate incident with Grace Upton, Marie could only wonder: What kinds of tales was the gossip mill in town spreading about them?
Jack was less concerned about proper decorum than he was about the dropping temperatures. Already, there was a noticeable chill in the air. Within the hour, it would be very cold. Somehow, he would have to find a way to keep Marie warm --- and only one alternative was coming to mind, one to which he was uncertain how she would respond.
Across the small space that separated them, he could just make out her shape in the dusky chill, huddled against the wall of the cellar, hugging her draw-up knees for warmth.
His heart swelled with love for her. Injured, cold, hungry, and thirsty, she had not uttered one word of complaint. He knew she wouldn't either. In spite of her beauty and her femininity, she was tough. She would come through just fine.
"Marie, I hate to bring this up, but without blankets, there's only one way we're gonna be able to keep warm tonight, and I think you know what that is."
There was a moment's pause before her voice came back to him through the growing darkness. "Shared body warmth," she answered.
"That's right. I know it ain't exactly proper for two people who ain't married to -- to, you know, lay together like that, but . . ."
She smiled. Even though he could not see the smile in the darkness, he could hear it in her voice. "It's all right, Jack." Another pause ensued as she considered the possible ramifications, especially if anyone should find out. Unless he carried tales, no one would know. "Well, we're both adults. We should be able to do this in a mature fashion."
"That's right," he agreed, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his heartbeat had picked up a bit at the thought of lying so close to her. Busying his hands, he cleared out the debris from a space on the floor.
When the hard floor that would serve as their bed was ready, she left her place against the cold wall, and lay down on the cold, dirt floor of the cellar, retaining her virtue by keeping her back to him. Jack lay down on his right side, his uninjured side, next to her, and snuggled against her back, facing her.
For several moments, neither of them moved, both very uncomfortable with the present turn of events.
Marie heard her pulse pounding loudly in her ears in the total silence of the cellar, acutely aware of his body lying against hers, and surprised by the conflicting emotions that raged inside her. She had not lain beside a man, even innocently, since the last night before Jacques had passed away. She had never expected that her body would react favorably to the closeness of another man, but it was, in a most unsettling way!
She tried to concentrate on something else, focusing on the uneven soil of the cellar as the target of her attention. She shifted, slightly, attempting to move from the slight hump on which she was lying.
"Uncomfortable?" Jack asked, raising his head, even though he could barely see her in the dark.
"There is a little hump on the ground, and it's very hard," she replied.
"Ouch," Jack grunted as he shifted position, concerned with his own discomfort. "Yeah, I know, but the floor ain't the only thing that's hard."
He felt her stiffen, and could easily imagine the horrified look that must have swept across her face. It was not difficult to guess the direction her thoughts must have taken.
"My gun, Marie," he said, with mock gruffness. "It's jabbin' me in the belly."
Her relief was immeasurable, her accent a little thicker as she blurted, "Uh. Oh! Well! Maybe you should take it off."
His hands fumbled with the buckle on his gun belt, and when he succeeded in removing it, he laid it aside, then pressed close against her again, his face against her thick mat of hair. "What'd ya think I meant?" he asked, teasingly.
She shrugged, so embarrassed she could hardly find her voice. "Well, I -- I just -- I thought -- I -- I " She gave up. Hastily, she said, "Go to sleep, Jack."
He chuckled softly, his breath warm against the side of her neck. "Yer mind's goin' in the gutter, Marie." He kissed the side of her face, then with great tenderness and affection, he smoothed down her thick blonde hair, then draped his arm across her waist, seeking her hand. "Good night, Marie."
Smiling, she patted his hand, affectionately, then impulsively closed her fingers around it, finding comfort in the gesture. "Good night, Jack."
Holding hands, their closeness staving off the chill, they lay awake for a long time before they finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.
GO TO CHAPTER FIFTEEN